Points of View
by Neonn
Summary: Just the POV's of some of the characters of Hamlet.
1. Our Friend or Our King?

Neonn:Hello! This is actually an English project. My class read Hamlet, andhad to do a projecty-y thingy for it. I decided to do some of the thoughts of a few of the characters, because I guess I felt that they weren't fully portrayed in the book. These are just my opinions on a few of the characters. Shakespeare may have intended something COMPLETELY different from my thoughts, but he's not the one doing these. Anyway, as I said, these are just _my_ thoughts on some of the _characters_' thoughts. I'm probably slaughtering it, though. I've also titled them, as I felt they needed titles, though they probably didn't.

I tried to keep with the Shakespearean language, to make it seem a little more…real, I guess is the word I'm looking for. I was going to do one on Hamlet, but decided we get a decent portrayal of him, anyway, so I picked a few of the lesser characters instead. I did these characters, because I felt that I had enough information from them in the book. For some of the others the book gave enough descriptions of them, so I didn't feel the need to add on, or too little I didn't dare venture a guess on their thoughts.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. And i won't do a disclaimer on each chapter. This one speaks for the whole thing.

**"Our Friend, or Our King?"**

**Rosencrantz and Guildenstern**  
**(After they've met with Hamlet in Act One)**

He sees through us, we're sure.

He has as much said that aloud.

"There is a confession about your looks,

Which your modesties have not the craft to colour."

Are we unloyal, traitorous? Is that at all possible?

Now, our King and Queen have asked this of us,

To watch our Prince and friend, and his transformation,

And the King and Queen are where are loyalties lie.

We feel his eyes upon us. The Judgement, mocking

And condemning. He plays with us, as a cat does a

Mouse, yet, thankfully, his claws are sheathed.

The King says his mind is blighted, but his eyes

And actions speak opposed to the Kings words.

His eyes burn with a knowledge, he knows all.

And his words, too, speak of knowing himself.

"I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is

southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw."

The King does not know, nor, possibly, does he truly care.

His power is entrenched, and as long as Hamlet

Can keep up the pretense, he will be safe from…

But these are traitorous thoughts. As we walk with

Our past friend, speaking idly, yet with veiled meanings,

We must consider, whom should we betray?

Our friend, or our King?


	2. On Prayer and Redemption

Neonn: Chappie 2! YAY! Only one more after this...

"On Prayer and Redemption**"**

**Claudius' View**

**(After his prayer in Act Three)**

"My words fly up, my thoughts remain below" 

I rose, sorely distraught, I had truly intended to

Pray for forgiveness, to save my soul from the

Eternal flames of damnation. But I find I cannot.

I caused my brother's death, yet I will not, nay,

Cannot pray for redemption. Redemption is for a

Higher creature than I. I who willingly sacrificed

The life of my kin. And to what purpose? For an amount

Of land, metal, and a woman. What matter of man am

I, to commit such an abominable act? Murder, murder most

Foul, o, my offense is rank. I know my faults, and my

Soul is harrowed up, in the searing flame of guilt.

Yet I cannot ask, or even hope, for forgiveness.

How could I? Brother, are you mocking me now?

Are you taking pleasure in my guilt? Are you pleased,

To have your revenge upon me, by making me feel this

Agony, this crushing sense of conscience? Or is it not enough?

Your son, my nephew and now son, your kin,

Has gone mad. Polonius says there be a method to it.

I see not the method to it. Is it grief, which has addled his mind so?

Or is it something else? Answer me! However, no, you cannot.

I tried to pray, and yet, none could hear my prayers.

None but the demons, mocking my attempts for undeserved peace.

My words fly up, my thoughts remain below,

And words without thoughts, cannot to heaven go.


	3. Out of Reach

Neonn: YAY! CHAPPIE 3!!!

In keeping with Ophelia's little speech on flowers, I decided to continue on that subject. Ophelia's is a little difficult to understand, unless you know something about flowers. I based my flower meanings on the ones in the Victorian times, so I'm not quite sure how they'd relate to the actual characters in their time period, but I couldn't find anything for that time. A rose symbolizes true love, and if it's red, it means passion or desire, and white is purity.

Handing the flower to another upright or with the right hand had a positive meaning, blossom downwards or with the left hand a negative or a denial, a complete reversal of the flower's upright meaning. In Victorian times, to receive a rose that was upside- down was considered the ultimate rejection.

Yellow tulips show a hopeless love that has no chance of reconciliation. Daffodils generally mean unrequited love, great regard, respect, and chivalry: they are also laden

with another double meaning: "My fond hopes have been dashed by your behavior," or "The sun is always shining when I'm with you." Lastly, columbine is "folly".

R&R PEOPLE!

**Ophelia's View,**

**(End of Act Four)**

"Blasted with ecstasy", mine own words 

Could are now used for me.

He, the glass of fashion and the mould of form,

As much as offered me a rose, and I,

I would have returned it, if given the chance.

Yet, before mine eyes, he takes it, and turns it

About on its head, offering me a left hand and

Columbine. All I can give him now are yellow tulips.

And daffodils. O, my lord…my father.

My Prince's mind, in his moment of ecstasy,

Has sent my lord above.

Here, where a willow grows aslant a brook,

That shows his hoar leaves in a glassy stream,

I do come, with my garlands.

I do make coronet weeds, for the pleasing of my lords.

Above my head, a red rose is caught in the slivers.

How it came to be, I cannot know,

Yet it would crown any of mine garlands.

I reach for it, hanging my weeds on a small sliver.

The flower is just above, if I can but reach…

The sliver has broken, and the flower floats

In the weeping, crying brook.

I reach, and the tears of the brook rush up to greet me.

They encompass me, as my lords' soft, caring?, arms.

It tears cover mine own, as I sing,

Singing out to my rose, my lonely white rose.

But I am alone, and the roses are out of reach.


End file.
